


ghosts 'n' stuff

by spicypanda



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicypanda/pseuds/spicypanda
Summary: Kunzite's past haunts him (literally). [K/V, K/Z]





	

_It's been so long, I've been out of my body with you_   
_I feel alone, feel at home, feel like nothing is true_

_*_

Every evening, after Kunzite returns to the Dark Kingdom, he has a ritual.

He reports to Beryl. Retires to his quarters. Unlaces his boots and places them at the foot of his bed. Removes his cape and folds it into a neat gray square. Undresses himself fully. Stretches, relishing every pop and crack of his muscles.

In his wash-chamber, he draws a scalding hot bath and lowers himself until the water is mid-chest. He allows the temperature to loosen the rest of the knots in his body, then he scrubs every inch of his skin, with a precision bordering on surgical. He rinses and rises.

If he’s in an indulgent mood, he might enjoy a glass of scotch, served neat.

Generally, he slips into bed, naked. If Zoisite has returned, they fuck, silent and harsh, devoid of tenderness. If not, then he simply closes his eyes.

Most nights, he sleeps soundly. Dreams do not balm his soul; nightmares do not plague him.  

Tonight is not one of those nights.

*

It is a song that draws him out of sleep -- a familiar, ancient melody. The notes crawl along his spine, tremble at the edges of his memory.

His eyes snap open.

*

Her hair shines in the cavern’s gloom. It is startling to see something so bright here. It fucking _shimmers,_ a slice of gold-spun sunlight deep within the bowels of the Dark Kingdom.

_Venus._

He doesn’t say it out loud. Nonetheless, she turns. Even shrouded in shadows, he sees her eyes sparked with a familiar blue fire, the light that always signaled her intention to challenge him, madden him; she curtsies, flourishing her arms out with extravagance. “The one and only, my Lord Kunzite.”

It has been millennia since he has seen her last.

( _The first time he laid eyes on her: across the room at a stodgy dignitary function. She was resplendent in silk and pearls, drinking entirely too much wine and laughing entirely too loud._

_The first time he saw her in battle: a flash of gold, then a blur of light and energy. Her movement as liquid as quicksilver, weighted by strength and grace -- truly, one of greatest warriors he has ever beheld._

_The first time he took her to bed: her tanned flesh glowing against the starchy sheets in his Commander’s tent. It is frenzied and tender all at once, and her eyes flutter shut, complete in her trust and vulnerability._

_The final time: a careless glance over his shoulder at her battered body as he retreated to join Beryl in her stand against Selene. Her hair fanned out around her, blood pooling steadily beneath her.)_

A ghost, a hallucination, a fever dream -- but he’s never believed in ghosts and he is not weak-minded enough to fall victim to false visions.

He rises from bed, his fingers automatically feeling for an invisible seam in the air.

“You…I killed you,” he grits out.

Her teeth flash white. It reminds him of that little cat she used to have -- the Mau advisor. Never did like him much, and the memory of stomping him into the ground purrs with dark satisfaction around his heart.

“That you did, lover. Sliced me right through, throat to navel. One clean line.”

The candles have been lit; the fire plays strangely against the walls, throwing monstrous shadows against the rough-hewn stone. When she steps into the light, he finds her clad in a simple ivory gown that cascades to her bare feet. The resemblance to the late Princess Serenity would be unnerving, if not for the neckline that plunged straight down to her belly, revealing, engraved in her skin, the memory of his betrayal. It is a puckered red line, mottling her otherwise pristine flesh, perfectly straight, from the top of her sternum all the way down to her belly button. 

“That always intrigued me about you, my Lord,” she murmurs. She moves forward until she’s standing in front of him. Her slim hands drift down the swell of his arm, and he suppresses a shiver at the surprising, lingering heat of her touch, in this place where warmth so rarely penetrates. “No excess. No waste.”

She shifts, and the fabric slips down the curve of her shoulder, exposing the wound more fully. She looks up at him through the thick black fringe of her lashes.

With a quick, brutal movement, he seizes her by the throat and pins her against the stone wall.

She reacts only with a tiny grunt. Her teeth clench defiantly.

Silence.

His grip loosens, just a fraction.

She scoffs; her next words come out as a strained, choked sneer. “Pathetic. Betray your Prince, betray me, but _at least_ commit to it. The Kunzite I know would have never entertained such weakness”--

She gasps. His knuckles tighten around the handle of the obsidian dagger digging into her flesh like butter. It pleases him, the ease with which it gives.  

He leans forward and places a hard kiss, one, two, behind her ear. He inhales, briefly, her scent, something like peaches bordering on the edge of ripeness. “You talk entirely too much, my beloved.”

Her eyes widen, open like the sky, until her gaze is nothing but a blue void.

*

Later that night, he lies awake, staring upwards, into the infinite darkness of the ceiling. Beside him, Zoisite shifts restlessly, his slender form tangled in the sheets. Kunzite frowns, turning on his side to lean over and brush the strawberry-blonde curls dampened onto Zoisite’s forehead.

“Oh my _gosh_ ,” a voice sing-songs above him. It echoes throughout the chamber. “Isn’t _that_ just the most precious thing.”

He bolts up. She’s perched on a rocky recess in the wall above him, leaning forward, her chin cupped in her hand. This time, she wears her senshi fuku, and her Love-Me Chain dangles from her wrist, pulsing with faint golden light.

“Hey there, lover.” She lifts her hand and wiggles her white-gloved fingers.

“You”--His throat rasps, catches on his shock.

“Yep. Me.”

“I”--

“Yep, killed me. Alas, I’ve already been slayed at your hand. That whole thing, where, you know”--she pantomimes stabbing herself and swoons--”Mostly dramatic effect. Pretty good, no? Fooled you, at least.”

She hops off the ledge, gracefully sailing down, ten, twenty feet, to the ground. She lands on her feet, silent save the delicate clink of her chain hitting the floor.

He watches her, wary and alert. Venus, unconcerned, roams the chamber, observing her surroundings.

“Not much for decor, are we?”

He remains silent.

Unheeding, she picks up a dead energy orb from a shelf and moves it from hand to hand, measuring its weight. Then, without warning, she tosses it into the air and whips out her Love-Me Chain from behind her back, catching it on the descent. With a flick of her wrist, she tightens the chain’s grip.

The orb shatters, falling to the floor in infinite shards of black glass.

“Mmmm,” she says. She steps over the remains of the orb, then glides over to Zoisite’s side.

Kunzite tenses.

She settles herself down next to the younger Shitennou and gazes at his face, its angelic planes crunched with agitation. 

“He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?” She reaches forward and skims her fingers down his chest, leaving a faint trail of orange light in her wake.

Zoisite moans, then goes still, his breath evening out into a more peaceful rhythm.

“Do you suppose he dreams of Mercury?” she murmurs. “Of Endymion?”

_(Is this a dream?_ He wants to ask but he knows that her answer will bear no truth.) 

“Mercury was the first to send out the message. Gate breach. Stop. Shitennou. Stop. The transmission got cut off, but I thought it was just interference from the battle, the magic flying around. I was convinced you had all come to save us. I collapsed to my knees with relief. It wasn’t until I found her that I understood -- her skin shredded into pieces, the bruises around her neck… All those pink flower petals scattered around her. She was so pale. So beautiful.”

Venus heaves a nostalgic sigh, rising to her feet. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was haunting him, after all these years.” Then, with a faint note of delight, “You’d never guess it, but she really could be the most vindictive bitch.”

 *

He kneels in front of Beryl, his head bowed.

A phantom breath on the back of his neck, the faintest scent of summer fruit, before Beryl’s voice brings him back to reality--

“Kunzite.” Sharp, clipped.

_“Kunzite.”_ A whisper, as soft as the breeze.

*

One night, Zoisite returns to the Dark Kingdom, bleeding and bruised, clutching a wound at his side, with news that sends Beryl into a rage -- Sailor Venus has returned. The Inner Senshi are once again united.

Later, Kunzite slips into the washing-chamber where Zoisite sits, submerged in a steaming bath. His eyes are closed, and his hair, undone from its customary ponytail, cascades over the edge of the tub.

Kunzite’s boots click sharply against the stone until he stands behind his lover. “You’re sure of this.”

Zoisite cracks one eye open, then closes it again. “Fuck off.”

“Don’t speak to your Commander that way.”

“Fine. Fuck off, _Commander.”_

Kunzite leans down and grabs a fistful of hair, wrenching Zoisite’s head back, forcing his eyes open. “I asked you a question, Shitennou.”

Zoisite grits his teeth. Resentment simmers underneath his sharp green gaze as he meets Kunzite’s stony stare. His upper lip curls into a sneer. “Yes, Kunzite. It seems as if your beloved Sailor Venus has returned. The Senshi cunts once again have their dear leader."

Kunzite’s fingers clench. He releases Zoisite abruptly, whose head clanks against the rim of the tub.

“Fuck!” Zoisite snarls.

He rises. “It matters not. We will destroy them all, in the end. Next time you run into the Senshi, summon me.”

*

“CRESCENT BEAM SMASH!”

The youma explodes in a dazzling display of light and entrails. Guts and bloods splatter against the asphalt, and Sailor Moon shrieks, trying to dance out of the way. Jupiter seizes her by the collar, yanking her into a doorway underneath the protection of an awning.

On a rooftop above them, concealed by shadow, Kunzite watches.

Sailor Venus is crouched behind a dumpster with Mars, but once the carnage is over, she jumps out and whoops with delight.

“Another one bites the dust, ladies! Negaverse ain’t got nothin’ on us!” She shimmies a bit, grinning ear-to-ear. He recognizes, on her face, the exhilaration of bloodshed, of victory. It’s an expression he’s seen countless times before.

But she is not Venus, no. At least not as he knew her in the Silver Millennium. She is not the proud, ruthless warrior, nor the cunningly seductive aristocrat. This incarnation of Venus is but a mere slip of a schoolgirl, all long legs and shining yellow hair, filled with foolish declarations about love and light and justice. Her attacks are clumsy, her instincts dulled by inexperience.

The Dark Kingdom has nothing to worry about.

“UGH!” Moon cries. “It smells _so rank!”_

Mercury, staring down at her pocket computer, wordlessly shoots a stream of water out into the alleyway. Venus laughs, slinging her arm over Moon’s shoulders.

Abruptly, she stills. Her head tilts upwards, and her gaze locks onto the spot where he stands, hidden.

“All clear,” Mercury’s voice rings out into the night. She presses at the side of her visor, which vanishes.

Venus starts, turning away from him.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s head home, guys.”

The Senshi all nod in agreement, murmuring about homework and dinner and parents, and part ways. Venus ducks into an alleyway across the street, sandwiched between an arcade and a tiny convenience store. A flash of orange light, then, a pretty blonde emerges, the picture of schoolgirl innocence. She lets out a jaw-cracking yawn, and, rubbing her eyes with exhaustion, heads north. 

He slips into the night and follows her.

*

Zoisite is out collecting energy for Metallia, and he has found himself here.

He clenches his teeth as she sinks onto him silently. In the dark, her naked body is a pale slash, like the fall of moonlight on a blade. Twin seas watch him, clear and calculated, before fluttering shut. Her mouth falls open and she arches back, exposing her neck. The scar down her chest pushes out against her skin, paling to a pink with the extra pressure of her skeleton.

He remembers: a swift, clean slash, red blossoming across her fuku.

His mouth waters. Her hair falls forward, catching the light in the shadows, obscuring his vision with gold.

*

“You’ve been disappearing lately, Kunzite. What are you up to?”

He’s not sure how to answer, so he kisses Zoisite hard, until they’re a mass of limbs and sweat tangled in his sheets, the question shelved for the moment.

*

The Venus that haunts him -- ghost, demon, whatever she may be -- is only a memory.

Aino Minako, on the other hand, is a revelation of life. Breathing, loving, in-the-flesh.

Alive, she is. She buzzes with energy as intense as the sun, flitting from volleyball practice to the Crown Arcade to the temple of the raven-haired miko, never once losing steam. She is, by far, the most talkative person he’s ever observed, her hands twirling like half-crazed butterflies in the air. She laughs, she flirts, she obsesses over ridiculous pop idols.

He should tell Beryl he knows the identity of Sailor Venus. That she sleeps the most peacefully between 4AM and dawn, and that, otherwise, her eyes snap open at any errant sound, any hint of lurking terror. That he suspects the identity of the remaining Senshi: a group of girls Minako spends most afternoons with, huddled around the Sailor V console at the Crown, speaking in hushed whispers.

That he has a strong suspicion of the Moon Princess’s whereabouts.

But every time she asks, sibilant, silky words hissing into the void, “Any news of the Senshi?” he remains silent.

 *

“So,” she says.

Venus sits across from him, cross-legged. She is perfectly still, her naked, tanned body glowing like a firefly in the dark.

“So what?”

She looks at him, calm and measured. “You know her identity. You know Sailor Venus, in this life, is Aino Minako. You haven’t informed Beryl yet.”

He can feel her eyes following him as he strides across the room. Turning his back to her, he pours a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply. It transports him back long ago, to the first time he drank it.

_(A warm summer’s night. The light clink of glasses against each other. Endymion’s warm smile._

 “ _Congratulations, Commander.”)_

He freezes, shocked by the memory. He composes himself, taking a long gulp then setting it back down.

“It matters not. Her time will come.”

“I see,” she whispers.

A long silence follows. A vacuum presses down upon his ears.

He doesn’t have to turn around to know.

She is gone.

*

He hasn’t seen, hallucinated, dreamt of Venus in several weeks.

He hasn’t slept soundly in even longer.

He sits, tucked into a back corner booth at the Crown Arcade, the only other customer besides five teenage girls behind him. Usually they keep to themselves, heads bowed together, their faces lined with a worry beyond their years.

Today, they are loud and exuberant, bursting with girlhood, except for the raven-haired miko. Hino Rei, a birthday hat perched jauntily on her head, slumps into her seat, her fingers pressed against her temples.

“Excuse me?” A tap on the shoulder.

He turns.

In that second, he realizes that he has never seen her this close before.

Once again, he understands: she is Venus, but not. Her face is rounder, softened by youth, and her eyes are guileless, the blue made all the clearer by the openness within.

“Would you mind taking a picture for us?” In her hand, she holds an obnoxiously pink Polaroid camera.

He nods mutely, taking the outstretched device from her hand. She flashes him a thousand-watt smile, unfazed by his taciturn demeanor. The group fusses for a minute, arranging themselves around Rei, who looks ready to strangle Kunzite with the camera strap. Minako grins and flashes bunny ears behind her head.

He snaps the picture. He scans their faces, reciting their names.

_Kino Makoto. Aino Minako. Hino Rei. Mizuno Ami._

_Tsukino Usagi._

“Thank you!” she chirps, taking it back from him. Her eyes flicker up to his face, and in that second, he sees a kaleidoscope of emotions cross her face. Recognition. Confusion. Longing.

“Have we met before?” she ventures. “My name is Aino Minako.”

He stares down at her.

“No. No, I don’t think we have.”  

 *

That night, he dreams.

He dreams of Venus, in the Terran gardens: the coy twist of her mouth, sparkling with a secret and a promise; the lovely curve of her neck; the sweet press of her body against his.

He dreams of his comrades: their easy laughter, the clashing of swords, late nights hunched over maps in his office.

He dreams of his Prince, and although he knows it not, he whispers in his sleep -- _Endymion._

He dreams of Zoisite, green-eyed with determination and cunning. A late-night meeting in his chambers. Promises of power, of independence, falling from his tongue, like poisoned arrows of salvation.

He dreams of Beryl, of how her body moved towards him, transformed in a terrifying flash, from a woman into something more sinister, redolent of darkness and serpents. Terror seizes his throat, makes his blood flare.

He dreams of the Moon. Of blood and bones and steel. Of red and gold. Of his Prince’s corpse, spread-eagled on the floor of the Moon Palace throne room.

From faraway, he hears a voice, as familiar as a brother’s.

_“Shitennou, rise.”_

He awakens.

*

A/N: Sailor Moon and all its characters are properties of Naoko Takeuchi. Title taken from the Deadmau5 track of the same name.

Thanks for reading! <3

 


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